


compatibility report

by flosculatory



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Spreadsheets, and a modicum of angst, and spreadsheet fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flosculatory/pseuds/flosculatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short piece based on <a href="http://katiewont.tumblr.com/post/143042372195">Katie's post</a>:</p><blockquote>
  <p>Arthur bringing Eames his reams of research about why they should date. There’s an excel spreadsheet practically disqualifying every other member of dreamshare.</p>
  <p>“The process of elimination is hardly flattering,” Eames says, but luckily Arthur anticipated this situation and also has a list of Eames’ good qualities.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	compatibility report

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kenopsia (indie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indie/gifts).



> This is just a fic-ified version of [this dialogue-only post](http://flosculatory.tumblr.com/post/143046573167/katiewont-arthur-bringing-eames-his-reams-of) I made.
> 
> and re: title - I did exactly what anyone else would do: I opened up Microsoft Excel and started looking through menus until I found a title. *shrugs*

Eames glances down at the spreadsheet in his hands, an array of colours and data that — somehow — led Arthur to believe that he was the only person in dreamshare who was suitable for dating. _What the fuck._

"Wait, how long have you been working on this chart?" Eames asks, gears already turning in his head.

"For the past three years or so?"

"It took you that long to see fit to proposition me?"

"Well, to be fair, I only made the last elimination two weeks ago, and you were busy doing that fucking job in Caracas." His voice takes on an edge at the end of this, but Eames ignores it.

"Are you telling me that there is some other bloke who’s been in the running all this time, whom I have _just_ managed to surpass?"

Arthur sighs and points out a name on the spreadsheet.

"...Thorsten? I almost lost to _Thorsten_?"

"What’s wrong with Thorsten?"

"The man is ancient! He’s got to be _at least_ 50."

"Well, _I_ wasn’t about to bring ageism into this."

" _Ageism_? He’s old enough to be your _father_! Unless— Should I be preparing myself? Is this something you’re into?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Eames, for fuck’s sake. You’re being hysterical."

"Oh, I’m sorry, it seems I was a bit thrown by your extensive spreadsheet checklist-cum-hurdles race, and I think seeing that I was competing against a _senior citizen_ has just completely done my head in. I’m not sure I’ll ever recover, to be honest."

"I should’ve realized you’d think this was stupid." Arthur moves to grab the spreadsheet from Eames and leave, but Eames gets a hand on his wrist first. Arthur glares down at the hold, unimpressed, but allows Eames to speak anyway.

"Wait, Arthur, I... I just need a moment to process all of this, I _don’t_ think your spreadsheet is stupid.” He lets out a small laugh. "In fact, it seems like precisely the type of thing you _would_ do, but to know that I was only one cock-up away from losing you to _Thorsten_..." Eames trails off and Arthur’s eyes flick back to him, a strange concern in his eyes.

Eames clears his throat and lets go of Arthur's wrist to fiddle with the poker chip in his pocket. "What was the final straw with him, anyway?"

Arthur looks away. "It was... nothing important. Just a normal criterion that he failed to fill. Something inane."

"Arthur," Eames says, gently nudging Arthur’s chin to meet his eyes, " _what was it_?"

Arthur holds himself stiffly but gives in. "Last page. Rightmost column."

"Darling—" Eames looks up, but Arthur is looking away from him again, a faint blush on his cheeks.

"Yeah, I— it turned out I didn’t really want Thorsten. And I got tired of waiting for him to sell me out, or kick a dog, or be arrested for public urination, or whatever else was on that list, so I... well."

"Arthur."

Arthur’s gaze snaps back to Eames, suddenly fiery. "And you were never ‘one cock-up away’ from _losing_ , fuck. Do you know how many criteria you failed during our first job together? But I sat down at my chart, and told myself that it really _wasn’t_ important that you had a pocket watch like some sort of fucking hipster, and I just started deleting columns. Suddenly, I was deleting columns left and right to keep you in the running, and I _know_ that that makes this spreadsheet stupid, but I just wanted to be sure, I wanted it all laid out and—"

" _Arthur_."

"What?"

"It’s not stupid. This spreadsheet is officially the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"Eames—"

A smile steals over Eames’ face. "Darling, I am having this framed. I am having this copied, framed, and hung in every apartment I own. I am going to carry this spreadsheet around in my wallet for as long as I live. I am going to be _buried_ with this spreadsheet."

" _Eames_."

"Yes?"

"Just fucking kiss me already."

"That I can do. And miles better than Thorsten, mind you, the man has fish lips—"

Arthur shuts Eames up with his face.


End file.
